So, we’re remodeling. This, amidst: the winter temps that drop to colder than a witch’s you-know-what, the constant threat of covid, my husband’s health, looking for an agent for On The Sly, and being over halfway (yay!) through the first rough draft of Sly As A Fox.
EVERYTHING goes into the kitchen and dining area while we do the floors in the back of the house.
Trying to write right now isn’t easy, to say the least. But I’m a writer and the words burn inside me. I write, not because I have something to say (because I often don’t), but because I have no choice. It’s either put pen to paper or get lost in the maze of stories in my head. Because THEY will not go away until I send them into a story.
I have a carefully mapped lane all the way back to my computer and desk. It’s just wide enough for a sleep-fogged, caffeine-wielding traveler, who is also tripping over a wild and overgrown kitten. My hips are covered in bruises from knocking into things, and I’ve spent more than a fair share of time cussing over stubbed toes.
Today, I will have a discussion with my characters. They have taken an unexpected turn in the story, and I need to find out what exactly they’re planning, because I haven’t the foggiest. Sylvia is willful, headstrong, and stubborn to the hills and back. Her brother, Aaron, has a superhero complex. I cannot reason with either of them. I can only buckle in for the adventure. As soon as I can find my desk.
Wish me luck!